


Crossfire

by alicelexi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Assault, Canonical Character Death, Car Accidents, Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Gang Violence, Gangs, Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Medication, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Pregnancy, Recreational Drug Use, References to Drugs, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicelexi/pseuds/alicelexi
Summary: “You have until the end of this year to come up with fifty-thousand dollars, or you won’t live long enough to see yourself have beautiful children with that girlfriend of yours. Are we clear?”“How--”“Are. We. Clear?” Anya enunciates every syllable.“Yes.”His response earns a smile from the woman, which she remarks “Good,” prior to walking past him and pretending as if she’s never met him before in his entire life. It’s sudden, but the sense of panic resting on his gut begins to set in and overwhelms him in more ways than one.“Fuck.”[ REWRITE FROM MY PREVIOUS WORK, SAME TITLE ]





	1. D.N.A

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's come to my attention that, 1) my previous fanfiction work with the same title is currently 2 years old and 2) I have yet to actually update it in that two years. Now, whether or not I follow through with that... Anyways! Just, let me know if you think that I did a great job in rewriting this and would like to see more than what we saw in the original first two chapters; I'll be writing more as soon as I can, and when I have free time.
> 
> Feedback is not only encouraged, but highly appreciated!

> **6:45 A.M**

A distant ringing noise invades his dreams, with an insufferable tune. He’d thought, once, to change it to a song that he enjoyed -- that worked, for only a day before it began to drown out and he was lost in his dreams instead of being alert to it. This tune drove him up the walls mad, which seemingly did the job.

A groan reverberates his throat and aches with a burning sensation. The noise he cried mimicked that of the dead in those television shows he enjoys all too much. He thinks, _fine, alright!_ And slams a hand atop his phone, searching frantically with only memory to turn the tune off.

It works, and he sighs with relief. Drifting back to sleep is all the more easier without a constant cry of attention from his phone.  _ Whatever it is, has to wait. _

Five minutes surpass, and the insouciant noise begins wreaking havoc on his dreams once more. Another guttural groan, and rinse, repeat, to the same action of finding the off button just by memory occurs -- it dawns on him to check just how many alarms he set, within a tired hazy memory, last night. That’s when it hits him.

_ 6:50 A.M. _ Stretched across a cracked screen, which his eyes had to adjust to the brightness of his screen. Sudden panic fills his system and leaves his nerves jumping, racing, causing him to automatically throw the sheets across to the other side of the bed, and having his body move as if it decided to develop a brain of its own.

Floorboards creak underneath frantic feet, haphazardly brushed teeth and clothes were strewn across the floor is the state he leaves the house in. However, he doesn’t leave prior to rummaging through the fridge for a can of beer that he takes from the plastic nozzle; he approaches a woman, hunched over with drool coming from the side of her mouth and a red hue against her cheeks.

“Hey.” He nudges her with the beverage, “I’m leaving.”

“Huh?” She’s barely able to keep her eyes open, “John?”

“Yea’, it’s me. Figured you didn’t want to walk all the way to the kitchen.”

With that, he drops the can onto the wooden table with a loud noise emitting from it.

John wastes no time at all slipping his feet into his shoes and making a way out of the house, paying no clear attention or caring enough that he hasn’t locked the door. The end of the steps leading up to the broken-down house is paired with a crosswalk before a metal gate, which has always been unable to properly latch and secure itself.

He decides to start running, in hopes that he makes it to his destination on time. He follows a path all too familiar, which includes stopping by the back patio to a house -- this one, in particular, is three stories high, and the outside of it had the whole nine yards of being pristine white, alongside a picket fence, and two sets of stairs containing thirteen steps on both. The patio laid up a hill, and John wasted no time with trespassing.1

The house, in particular, belonged to the Mayor of the city who has, on more than one occasion, had problems with John and his family, alongside various other “troubled” kids, as he’d put it. The Mayor’s kid was spoiled as could be, and the two of them never got along. John refused, in other words, due to the contrast of their personalities and living situation.

He resorted to doing what he’s always done, for the past two years, and take the bike that so happens to belong to the Mayor’s kid, and begins riding along the path towards his destination. He’s done this simply to make it to work or school on time, and he’d just ditch it at wherever he was last with the intention of walking -- the Mayor’s kid would find it, or if he didn’t, he’d just buy a new one with Daddy’s money.

Discarding his phone and headphones into his backpack once more, John takes a breath and approaches a classroom where he opens and closes as quickly as possible. He’d intended to take a seat off in the corner and pretend as if he’d been there all along, but a cold voice sends chills down his spine.

“Mr. Murphy.”

A woman states, her voice cold and unnerving. She resides at the bottom of the inclined building where she stands behind her desk, writing away on the chalkboard of the subject she’s teaching -- she’s made a point not to turn around, either, and goes purely off of instinct when addressing the sudden student entering her classroom.

“Late, as usual. This marks day, what, fourteen?” Now, she turns.

“And your point?” John raises an eyebrow, and continues to the seat he intended to take. “I slept through my alarm.”

“That was your excuse yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that one, you claimed you’d forgotten to set it at all.” She continues on, “I suggest you visit Ms.Cerra to change your schedule because I refuse to allow such behavior any longer. If you don’t, and you’re late again, I’ll have no choice but to send you to Mr.Pike’s office.”

“Yes, ma’am,” John replies, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “It won’t happen again.”

But, it probably will.

He’d only scheduled his classes during the morning so that he could rank in over forty hours a week at his job -- John regrets telling his manager to call him in whenever they needed him, but he still, nonetheless, came in simply due to needing the cash. Bills weren’t cheap, and companies seemingly didn’t care about any story you threw at them -- they’ve heard it all, and they’ve developed a backbone to it.

It takes him a collection of five minutes of wallowing in his defeat prior to taking the laptop out of his backpack, combined with his aforementioned cracked phone and destroyed headphones. He doesn’t intend on listening to music, but it’s helped him avoid conversations from people, which was what John specialized in -- not socializing. Plus, it also allows him to overhear conversations that he probably shouldn’t have heard, such as last year’s gossip surrounding the Princess of the school, Clarke Griffin, being involved with an old friend of his, Finn Collins, while he was dating the school’s genius, Raven Reyes.

He refused it when people asked, as did Clarke, until finally, Raven went through his phone and found proof that their situation was ongoing. She decided to leak it when he refused to tell her the truth, which contained a  _ lot _ more than just an ongoing affair -- Clarke was pregnant with his daughter. Nonetheless, John escaped that situation quicker than a wildfire spreading.

> **12:45 P.M**

John recalls the time he’d come home from school and checked the mail on his way in, only to be met with an acceptance letter from  _ Arkadia University _ . He didn’t exactly participate in extracurriculars within highschool, and while his grades were in limbo regarding both bad and good, he didn’t think it’d be enough for him to attend any college, let alone the most prestigious of them all. He thought that maybe they saw something in him.

Instead, all that they saw was apparently his mother. Mr.Pike, the principal, had regular occurrences with his mother to ensure him an acceptance letter, and it was enough to allow him to attend two years -- he had to pay tuition, still, but they never would’ve accepted him otherwise. Essentially, this was Pike’s way of trying to keep his appearance from his wife and children.

With a few grants and financial aid help, John managed it.

“Murphy!” 

John has very little time to react before an arm is thrown over his shoulder, and the front of one’s body is slammed into his back. Letting out a surprised noise, he looks to his side with his guard up, only to relax upon the familiar face of his best friend.

“I thought you had classes all today?”

“No, I only scheduled two classes for today. I’m trying to get overtime tonight,” John shrugs his shoulders, “Working a twelve-hour shift tonight.”

“Ouch, how are you getting home?”

“Walking? It’s not like I own a car.”

“I can always give you a ride--” Mbege tries, only to be cut off.

“Nah, stay in with your girlfriend. I’ll be okay.” John offers a smile.

“What are you losers talking about?” 

The both of them spare a glance behind them to the familiar voice, and are met with a mutual friend, and also John’s current on-off again relationship -- Emori Woods. The two boys cease their walking, and properly turn around to face her; John takes no moment in drinking in the sight of her -- hair donned in twin braids with a maroon beanie, she’s wearing one of his old jackets that he’d personally modify to contain spikes on the shoulder blade. It’s paired with a tube top and torn jeans.

“About how work and school own my ass.” John remarks.

“I thought  _ I _ owned your ass,” Emori counters with a grin, “Guess I’ve gotta work harder.”

“Or, work me harder.”

“Dude, right here.” Mbege intercepts as quickly as he can.

Both Emori and John share a laugh together at Mbege’s discomfort, it earns them a roll of his eyes.

“What are you doing?” John asks.

“Class ended early and I have a free period before my next one,” Emori explains, “Figured I’d hunt you two down -- especially after hearing that, supposedly, Mr.Mbege here never made it to his first class.”

“Skipping again, Mbege?” John throws a glance at his best friend with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, I didn’t really want to hear Mr.Winters talk my ear off.”

“Jeez, how many kids does Nia have in this school, again?” Emori muses.

“Two? Three? I don’t fuckin’ know.” John shrugs, “I have to get going to work.”

“Barista or librarian, today?” Mbege is the one to ask.

“Librarian,” Murphy pauses, “I’m covering until Maya can come in at midnight -- she, supposedly, can’t make it in until then. Her radiation treatments apparently last a whole day.”

“I thought she was in remission?” Emori’s eyebrows furrow, “Do you think she’s still using that as an excuse since she can’t use  _ Jasper _ as an excuse?”

“Probably, who knows. Anyways, see ya.”

> **4:33 P.M**

Work is boring.

He’d already gone onto a thirty-minute lunch break, covered by his working manager, but even coming back, it’s not like he had much to do -- as a librarian, the most that would even be considered  _ exciting _ enough for work is if someone throws a tantrum over not finding a book that’s either not approved on their list of books or have been checked out.

John starts falling asleep at his desk when the bell to the front door rings freely, alerting him of his in and out of state. He doesn’t catch who scurries in, not that he cares.

Staring at the clock doesn’t seem to be helping his case, either. It’s like every tick, tick, tick is taunting him menacingly, saying something like  _ you wish I’d go faster, don’t you? _ And, oh, he needs to stop making up voices for inanimate objects that, clearly, would not have the voice that he just projected in the back of his head.

However, the sight of blonde hair mixed with pink ends catches his eyes before the face does.

“Clarke Griffin.” He jeers, “You’re my most interesting customer today.”

“I thought I was the only customer,” Clarke remarks. “Whatever, I need to buy this textbook.”

“This is, what, book number four?”

“Number six,” Clarke scrunches her nose at him. “Madi likes to get into all of my school supplies -- she… Kind of tore the other one to shreds, which is why I’m getting used to buying them instead of checking them out. It’s exhausting, but I’ll manage.”

“Of course you will. What, with mommy paying bills, of course.” John retorts, sliding the scanner from its slot and having to force back the wince he’d want to emit when it makes a loud beeping noise. “Clarke, you -- you know this book is, like… A thousand dollars, right?”

“I’m aware.” She closes her eyes, allowing a breath to be taken as deeply as she can.

John knows that moment. He’s done that multiple times. The feeling of overwhelming guilt that attaches to your gut, that voice in the back of your head going  _ you can’t afford this, don’t even try to buy it _ . It’s something that he’s constantly had to fight when wanting to buy something for himself once in a blue moon, but he doubts this is really a  _ treat yourself _ type of moment.

“You know, you can just--”

“Pay it off in payments, check it out and bring it back. I’m aware.” Clarke interrupts, “But, I know Madi will destroy it if I’m not careful, and I’m stuck paying it off completely. Might as well just get it over with.”

“Why are you stressing, anyways? Abby is, like, the best medical doctor in town. She makes bank, it’s kind of ridiculous how much she makes.”

“Because,  _ John _ , my money isn’t from her.” Clarke explains, “I’m still leeching off of my dad’s inheritance. He left me quite a lot, but--”

“It’s going to run out soon enough.” John clears his throat, “And you now have a kid, so.”

“Mhm.” Clarke lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. It takes her a moment, but she manages to fish through her purse for her wallet, where she hands the poor cashier not just one credit card, but two. “My max limit is five hundred on both, so I’ll have enough to cover it. Please, just-- I want to get schooling over with.”

“It’s not going to make things better, our economy sucks.” John murmurs, and rings the book in. After having to call his manager over to override the transaction, he hands the cards back. “Maybe keep this in your car or something.”

“Good advice.” Clarke offers a smile.

> **11:05 P.M**

“Murphy.” A pause, “Murphy.”

John jolts awake, panic settling on his nerves and letting adrenaline run wild only for a moment. He’d almost fallen out of his chair, all because a part of his body was being shaken -- he relaxes, though not visibly, upon seeing Maya Vie of all people above him.

“Maya, you scared me.”

“Clearly.” Maya remarks, “I’m here to relieve you.”

“It’s only eleven---?” He didn’t intend to make that sound like a question, “But, hey, who am I to complain? Thanks for this, I really need the sleep.”

“Yeah, no problem.” She says with a smile, “Sleep well.”

John clocks out with their fingerprint scanner, it prints out a receipt that remarks how many hours he’s done for the entirety of two weeks. It includes today’s, which contains six hours marked as overtime; it causes relief to flood his entire nervous system, only to soon be replaced with fatigue over how much he’s worked the past two weeks.

Before he leaves, however, John decides to check out a book that he knows the school just got on within a shipment --  _ Pet Sematary _ by Stephen King, an author that he’s, admittedly, been obsessed with since he was younger and his father had no filter to raising a child. Along his way, though, John comes across the same blonde with pink tips that plagues his entire existence.

“Clarke.”

“Huh?” Clarke opens her eyes and finds just enough strength to bring herself to sitting up, “Where am I?”

“The library?”

“Right, right.” She’d unintentionally begin dozing off once more.

“Clarke.”

“What, I’m awake?”

“Are you? You didn’t sound so sure of yourself.” John points out, “Look-- do you need me to find you a way home, or something?”

“No, no. I-- my mom had my car today, so I’ll just call an uber.” Clarke speaks through a yawn; most of her sentence, John had to decipher for his own.

“Mkay, have fun with that.” 

“How are you getting home?” She asks, as if the thought had been pondering in the back of her head - as if she’s been worried about him for some time now. He’s already three feet from her, and she’s violated the  _ please be quiet _ code of conduct for libraries. “I mean, last I checked, your car broke down on the freeway and you had to call me.”

“And, why is it any of your concern, Griffin?” John turns on his heel to face her, “It’s not like we’re friends.”

“We used to be.” Clarke’s visibly pained by his statement, “Why don’t we share an uber?”

“Because that’s what I want to be the next gossip of the school. I can read the headlines now--  _ Clarke Griffin seen riding with a nobody? Her reputation is strained! See more on page 14! _ ” John, for a dramatic flair, even raises his hands and mimics a title. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Why are you such a jerk, Murphy?” Clarke counters, “I offered to do something nice-”

“And last time you did that, you stabbed me in the back.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Yes, ‘cause a  _ sorry _ was worth everything.”

The two of them, standing a mere three feet apart, don’t take their eyes off each other. He’s filled with clear annoyance and ire, while she mimics something soft -- in need of constant apologizing and making up for whatever she’s caused. Whether that is something as small as forgetting an important event due to stress, or ruining someone’s life -- John knows her all too well in more ways than one, but yet, he chooses to ignore their history.

_ Sunshine in her hair, with the wind nipping at their revealed skin. Her laugh was something he’s never been able to get out of his head -- it’s haunted him, plagued his dreams, with the feeling that he’s only ever wanted to make her laugh and hear it for eternity. She’s signaled him over, and he’s lost in every ounce of her. _

_ Clarke treads through the grass that rises to her knees, clasping a hand over his and drags him. He thinks that he’d follow her to hell if he could. If she’d let him. _

_ It comes as a surprise -- she’s innocently looking at him with her blue eyes that remind him of the ocean. He never expected that his body would move on his own, but he’s captured her lips in his and she stands up immediately. Blushed, red to her face - they don’t make it far before Jake’s calling her home, and she takes off without a goodbye. _

The sound of thunder shakes John to reality.

It doesn’t take long for it to start pouring, the rain heavy against the ceiling while it taps against the window. Both of them look in the same direction, closest to the window and then once more, back at each other. It’s now that John admits defeat, allowing a sigh to signal it with his gaze directing downward -- he murmurs something, and Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t quite catch that.” She pokes the lion, with a smirk on her lips.

“Fine,” John says, louder. “I’ll uber home with you.”

“Hmm, who says I want to give you a ride home now?” Clarke rises from her seat, “I’m kidding -- you are still an asshole, but… I wouldn’t let anyone walk home in the rain.”

It’s tense when both of them are placed in a small confinement. A part of John begs to run away, doesn’t matter that the car is currently moving at thirty miles per hour -- a piece of him continues to scream  _ run, run, run _ . It’s not that he doesn’t feel safe within the woman’s presence, he has never been one to accept the awkwardness and strain in the air.

The warmth of the heater begins to heat his frozen fingers, it makes him feel almost grateful that he’s not walking in the pouring rain. Almost.

Clarke’s place has always been a sight for sore eyes, something that is always envied and in its best condition. In the years that it’s been standing, John wonders how exactly no one thought to break in other than one time in particular -- it’s three stories, and glass surrounds the entirety of the bottom floor. It holds podiums at its entrance, and a balcony covers the outside of the second floor, leaving the third almost looking bare. 

He’s lost in a trance, so much so that the feeling of crumpled paper being shoved into an open palm jolts him to reality. John looks to the culprit, and finds manicured nails attached to Clarke, who he momentarily forgot was in the same car as him -- he’s always found himself so in awe over her place, he’s even deemed it his dream house once upon a time.

“Wha--?” He mumbles,

“Keep the change.” Clarke counters, slipping out into the rain.

John looks at his hand and comes as a surprise that the money in question is a fifty-dollar bill. He opens his mouth to protest, but the car door is slammed and Clarke rushes up two flights of steps prior to her front door -- where the door is thrown open, and out comes waddling a toddler into the pouring rain. He can’t hear what is being said, but no doubt Clarke is scolding her daughter.

The woman allows an ear to ear grin as she holds her daughter, however. Bittersweet and hopeful, she pampers the child with kisses and a tightened hug prior to closing the door.

“Is she your ex, or somethin’?” The drivers asks, suddenly.

“We were friends.” John remarks.

“Mh-hm.” The driver doesn’t sound convinced.

_ The rain continues to pour over them, he remembers how her hand felt against his. They were soft, and very warm -- felt good in contrast to his which were calloused and cold, freezing at the very tips. John never wanted to let go of her hand, but he would eventually have to and part of him is begging to just let the moment last so much longer, even in the unfairest circumstances. _

_ Melancholy has always found a way between the pair of them, whether it was their relationship or something else entirely. _

_ Jacob Miles Griffin. The gravestone read, and it was burning into his eyes -- perhaps more so hers, the way that reality crashes into someone a thousand times over and over. How she’d always visit this graveyard in the coming years, how the thought of calling her father every father’s day would be ruined just by a sudden remembering and lingering thought. _

_ It was her turn to lean on him. _

He hands the driver the crumpled bill upon arrival to his place, noticing the driver’s clear disinterest and overall, worry regarding the current state of the neighbor he’d, unknowingly, decided to drive into just for additional money. In a frantic state, the driver hands the remaining change off to John, making it clear that all he’s wanting to do is drive off in his pristine car.

John doesn’t make it to the gate to his place.

He’s shoved down to the ground, face meeting the ground with a burning sensation laying on his cheek as skin brushes against cement. Before he could react, John feels a pressure on the middle of his back that continues to press, press, and press -- a groaning noise, accompanied with a breathless sound escape his lungs out of panic.

“Jonathan Murphy.” A woman holds a haunting voice, “You have money for a car ride?”

“Anya--” John swallows, thickly. His mouth suddenly dry. “Hah, hey -- how are you?”

“Answer the question.”

“Look, okay --- yes -- no, I haven’t gotten paid yet -- someone  _ gave _ me that money.”

He can only imagine that by now, she has an eyebrow raised. The pressure of her heel digging into his back is raised, and John feels the need to inhale as much air as physically possible into his lungs -- as if he’d never breathed before. It doesn’t last long before it’s, once again, abruptly stolen by the sudden action of being turned over onto his back with a violent shake.

This time, her heel is pressed to his chest.

“You know the rules,” Anya sighs, “Any money you get -- belong to us.”

“I know, I know! Trust me -- I wouldn’t have ever kept things from you.” John hopes, his lies are enough to buy him some time.

“Right.” Anya purses her lips, “Where have I heard that from? -- Oh, I know. From your dear, dead dad.”

She gives no warning of any kind, per her specialty. The feeling of three different hands on his body; two at his ankles and one at his wrist -- he panics at the sensation of being held down, the rising sensation on his gut. It makes him squirm, trying to find his way out. She rummages through his pockets, and part of him is swearing in his head over his stupidity.

“Thirty-two dollars.” Anya announces after silently counting his change, “Tsk.”

“Wow, I had thirty-two dollars?” John remarks, a pitiful laugh following. “Must’ve been my lucky day or somethin’ before you came along.”

“You’re right,” She replies with a tight smile. “It must’ve.”

One of the boots belonging to a dark-skinned male collides into his ribs. It emits a cracking noise that he’s all too familiar with; it sends pain all down his side, and he can’t help but let out a whimpering noise after a scream. Another kick to the same spot, and then at his shoulder. Blood begins staining his lip, and tears prick at his eyes.

Another one of Anya’s men get to his level and punches him in the face. Not once, not twice -- John doesn’t even remember how many times, just that pain begins to engulf him in such a familiar sensation. He remembers the rawness of his throat, the taste of blood on his tongue. With every moment, with every attack, it just brings him closer to blacking out.

His body gives out and shuts down.

He doesn’t remember what happens next.

> **9:03 A.M**

The smell of lavender invades his nose, a hint of rose trailing after the scent. John’s first instinct is to scrunch his nose, only it radiates with pain on movement -- something he was willing to never feel as of recently, he was tired of his nose being broken and healing, only to be broken and forced to heal once again.

When he opens his eyes, they’re invaded with the color white and fluorescent brightness. He’s quick to closing his eyes to prevent himself from damaging his retina’s and begins adjusting to the sudden transfer from darkness to illuminating light. John lets out a sigh, despite the pain that begins to fluctuate every part of his body -- he notices his surroundings and welcomes his second home once again.

“Home sweet home.” He remarks to the empty air with a pain in his throat.

John slips back asleep.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been out since then, but he hears indistinctive voices surrounding him as the pain begins to welcome him home with open arms. None of which he’s paying attention to, however, and the less he cares when the pain dissipates from within him -- he realizes that the people amongst him must be the Doctors deciding to administer morphine into his system, a drug he’s friends with.

He hopes, he prays, he’s not some kind of addict. But, who cares at this point.

“You’re making all kinds of friends, John.” A woman, her voice all kinds of familiar.

“Am I?” He asks, suddenly.

“Oh, you’re awake, then.”

“Mh-hm.” John mumbles, “Must mean you’re not doing your job right, Abby.”

“Funny.” Dr.Griffin remarks with a dry tone, “You have four broken ribs, a broken nose, and we need to monitor you for a potential concussion.”

“Only four?” John furrows his brows, “Feels like five. Better up my dose, doc.”

“Jonathan.”

“I’m kidding.”

The silence that surrounds the room is enough for him to consider peaceful when in the vicinity of Griffin women -- they’re always, somehow and someway, getting on his case for something that he’s done, or will do. Abigail, in particular, used to consider herself his second mother; nurtured and loved him as such, she even taught him in the field of medical, though not officially and not enough to let him get a proper job without a degree.

“I want you to stay away from my daughter.”

John’s taken aback, “What?”

“You carpooled home with her. I want you to stay away from her.”

“No, she called an uber and offered a ride, I didn’t---”

“I don’t care.” Abigail interrupts, “She has a daughter to take care of, now.”

“And I would never do anything to Madi.” John grits his teeth, “I wouldn’t do anything to Clarke, either. It’s not really exactly on the top of my list, and neither is talking to her. Where was this attitude when you let Finn, of all people, in her life? Huh?”

Abigail remains silent upon his taunting inquiry left at the end of his sentence, she knows all too well of his antics enough to poke the beast further. Besides, John knows that it’d remain unprofessional if she were to address such a situation at her place of work, and that’s what allows him the easy win to the argument. He decides in a split second that the air between them is too thick for him to breathe, and he needs out while his skin is still begging to be free of hospital air and tense situations.

John removes the tape against his skin meant for holding the IV in place, it tears the needle out and, as expected, blood begins with a bead at the layer of his skin. It drips, and begins to move downward when he moves his arm, while he lets go of the needle itself; it sways in a rhythmic fashion until it’s able to find its own balance and drips, haphazardly and wasteful, onto the floor.

“Jonathan, I cannot let you do that.”

“Save it, Abby.” John sighs, throwing his legs over the bed. He’s thankful that the morphine is still in his system, or it’d be a hell of a ride getting home. “You’re not really a great Doctor if you think insulting and threatening your patient is the first step to do when they wake up.”

“Are you really upset because I won’t let you near Clarke? She’s my daughter.”

“And she’s an adult, Abby.” John counters, slipping socks on in the process. “She can make her own mistakes.”

“I will not allow you to drag her down. She’s close to graduating and providing a proper home for her and her daughter--”

“She just spent three thousand fucking dollars on a textbook so that she can graduate!” John shoots a look over his shoulder, “She’s suffering because she wants to prove you wrong. She wants to prove to people that she doesn’t need Finn in her life to take care of  _ her _ daughter. I don’t know how well you talk to her, but you really suck at being a parent.”

John is quick to slip his shoes on, and leave the room despite protests from a male nurse on the way out. He can, for a moment, hear their conversation prior to taking off down the hall with the decision to self-admit himself out of the hospital, even though the receptionist has clear intentions against refusing it -- but, what can she do?

Returning home is a ride for him.

He tries to avoid the sudden influx of memories flooding his system simply by ignoring the gate, but the attempt of climbing over a three-foot gate proves difficult and he has no choice but to decide to properly use the broken gate. It’s a hassle, but John figures it out, and manages to walk up the tiny stairs leading to his doorway -- may have taken him five minutes to mentally prepare himself, but progress.

John opens the door and hears a constant mewing of pleas the second he gets behind it. A soft chuckle emits from his lips, and he allows the tiny, black cat to follow him to the kitchen where he decides to feed the animal only to find the food dish full, but the water lacking some resources. Furrowed brows, John shrugs his shoulders with the thought of  _ at least Nacht got fed, whoever fed him _ in the back of his mind.

“John.” Emori’s voice rings true in his ears, and he looks over his shoulder. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah,” John breathes air out of his nose, “But, you look absolutely beautiful.”

“Shut up.” She chuckles, “Did you get my text?”

“No.” He admits, swallowing. “Phone died while I was in the hospital.”

“Oh,” Emori begins, “I just sent it saying I was going to be at your place today. Clearly.”

“Yeah, why are you here?”

“Doing your laundry. Feeding Nacht. Taking care of your mom.” Emori lists off a few, leaving it open to whatever else John may imagine. “Take your pick.”

“Emori…” John hesitates, but decides on, “Thank you.”

“Mbege helped. He said he felt bad because you rejected that ride and-- because he was the one to find you. Frantically called me, and we met up at the hospital. We admitted you under  _ John Doe _ because of the whole healthcare issue, as you wanted.”

“Ironic,” John musters, “Given my name.”

“We weren’t all that lying.” Emori laughs.

The two of them take advantage of the sudden open room called the living room since the majority of it was reserved specifically for John’s mother; she made a habit of drinking and refusing to go to her room. The PlayStation makes a familiarized hum that John hadn’t heard in such a long time; it’s followed by the sound of the television clicking on.

His feline friend curls up inside of his lap, and Emori allows him to have his own space. John relaxes against the arm of the couch and rests his head in the nook of it. Eventually, his own space turns into Emori moving the feline and replacing her head in his lap; eventually, the cat moves on to laying in the space between her stomach and the couch just before the edge. John resorts to placing his hand on her head, allowing fingers to drag through her hair.

John begins going in and out of sleep.

The only time he wakes up is when the door is pushed open abruptly, and he has to blink the sleep out of his eyes long enough for him to focus his vision properly and not have it blurred on the edges. The time on his clock registers at  _ 7:48 P.M _ , and the visitor in question is none other than Mbege, who had yet to close the door.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Mbege announces, “But! I bring friends.”

And as if it was planned, Mbege allows three others into the house as if it was his own -- Harper McIntyre, Zoe Monroe, and Fox Beuchner; the two latter being new additions to their little group and Harper, essentially, being an alumni, but nonetheless, John welcomes the company of friends despite his usual demeanor of deciding against people and socializing contact.

Harper is quick to hop onto his couch after she moves Emori’s legs to make room.

“You realize my mom’ll wake up soon, right?” John rolls his head back.

“Nope,” Emori and Mbege interject at the same time.

“I gave her two ten packs of beer.” Mbege finishes.

Mbege, alongside Zoe and Fox, carry an equal total of ten bags -- three from McDonald's and Jack N’ The Box, two from Burger King, and one solo bag from both Taco Bell and Wendy’s. It doesn’t take long for the three of them to lay it out amongst the group, but before anyone can do anything, Fox is quick to snatch the only bag of Taco Bell.

“I didn’t know what y’all wanted,” Mbege begins, “Except that Fox wanted Taco Bell, and Emori wanted Wendy’s with McDonald’s fries.”

“Hey, food is food.” John murmurs and takes a bag from Burger King. “Is it all random?”

“Yeah, except for--” Mbege begins making clicking noises with his tongue as he searches the bags until the noise is replaced with an  _ ah-ha! _ Noise. In triumph, he holds his sandwich. “Except for this.”

Emori is the first to put on an episode of her show, seemingly the newest episode as she invades John’s hulu subscription after he reminds her that not only were episodes disappearing off the line, but that he neglected the money to renew it until a week from now. He dozes in and out of sleep, and rarely touched his food out of pain returning to his body -- he even sleeps through the sudden debate that Emori and Mbege supposedly had that ended with the latter winning television rights.

“We should get going,” Zoe announces, close to 12:45. “We have to get up at 7.”

“Why the fuck do you have to get up at 7?” Mbege speaks around a mouth full of fries.

“I accidentally scheduled my class for 7 am while I was drunk,” Zoe begins, “And so, Fox took advantage of it by scheduling her dentist appointment.”

“You really need your license.” John manages, mumbling more so.

“Yeah, but between classes, mental health, and Zoe’s stick shift car -- I haven’t had the time. Besides, you’re one to talk.” Fox teases.

“Bye.” The collection of the group remaining all ring around as the pair take off out onto the streets.

Harper’s the next to go, within the next hour and a half. She remarked something along the lines that being in her dorm is scary, but routinely, her roommate arrives home between 1 am and 1:30 -- on her way out, she wishes for John to feel better and a good night as well, which he may or may not have caught while trying to stay awake, once again. Nonetheless, he murmurs a goodbye and hopes it was able to make a point across.

“Is it okay if I stay here for the night?” Mbege asks, which earns a nod from John.

“Did the Doctors give you any pain medication?” Emori eases into asking.

“Doubt it. Abby was my doctor.”

“She can’t just deny you medicine.”

“She can if she thinks that I may or may not be a drug addict.”

“Doesn’t that put you on a list or something?” Mbege questions.

“It would, yeah, but they have no reason to put me on it.” John shrugs his shoulders, “Do you have your vape?”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Let me go grab it.” And with that, Mbege’s quick to get off of the floor.

While waiting, Emori traces circles into the exposed skin of John’s leg from his torn jeans, and he eases himself into the motion -- allowing it to lull him, to get lost in the feeling. A sigh, although battered and somewhat painful, falls from his lips and he allows himself to close his heavy eyes once more, getting lost in the touch of Emori’s skin against his own. It doesn’t last long until Mbege’s back.

A few hits allow the pain to stay at bay, though he knows it wouldn’t be for very long.

The pair help John to his bedroom, which he holds a silent  _ thank you _ on his tongue for it being downstairs instead of up the flight of sixteen steps. Emori, while Mbege holds John, preps the bedding that she cleaned prior -- arranging pillows for easier comfort, and takes his blanket off so he has no difficulty climbing in. Once he’s laid down, she sets the blanket over him.

Mbege steals the only spare comforter from the laundry room, and he takes one of John’s spare pillows as well prior to Emori sliding in beside her boyfriend, where she then burrows into his side while the former male makes his way home on the couch, per the usual. The only difference is that this time, Mbege awakens to John’s mother who decides to ignore his existence in favor of alcohol.

He attempts to ignore the television that she turns on, only it proves futile and Mbege makes way to John’s room, where he’d climb into bed beside the two after waking up Emori for her to make room. It’s always been the three of them; John remarks a split second of being awake and seeing the two beside him.  _ It’s always been the three of them _ .

> **Five days later.**

Eating, breathing, moving, and in general, existing, is proving to be such a complicated task for John. His ribs ache, his lungs burn, and he can’t help but cry on most occasions -- Mbege and Emori have been at his side day and night, however, due to Mbege’s CBD infused vape which has been known to, essentially, dull John’s pain until it decides to come back, full force.

At one point within the days, John sees Abigail at her clinic.

The two speak only professional sentences to one another, and miraculously, John is given pain medication for the whole ordeal. Though, Emori is the one to pay for the prescription with no additional insurances covering John for it, which he remarks that he’ll pay her back when he’s able to without people breathing down his neck for money. 

Professor Winters hasn’t gotten on his case for the missing school days after he sent her a lengthy email about him being in the hospital currently, despite it being an improved lie. She, however, makes it clear that he’s not getting any A’s for the class unless he makes an effort to actually study and perform well on his tests -- which, good luck. It does, however, surprise her when he makes a sudden return to her class earlier this morning.

The coughing and sneezing are particularly the worse, and he mimics the dead in such ways. She’s gotten to a point that she doesn’t feel sympathy for him, and yells at him when he’s clearly being overdramatic per his usual antics. Though, it earns some laughs.

“Jonathan Murphy.”

That voice will forever haunt his dreams, he thinks.

“What now, Anya?” Jonathan remarks with a cigarette between his teeth. “I don’t have any money for you.”

“I’m here as a volunteer. Did you know that my major, also, was psychology?” Anya muses, “I’m a therapist. Isn’t that what you’re trying to become?”

“I thought your major was bitch.” John raises an eyebrow, “You know, you can’t hurt me on campus, right? Just making that clear.”

“I’m aware. I have no intention of hurting you while on the clock, but just know, you're still in debt.”

“No, my dad was in debt. Not me.”

As she moves, Anya’s heels make a clicking noise. She closes the space between them, as manicured fingernails snatch the cigarette from his mouth only to drop it on the ground, and with a stomp --- it’s gone and worthless. She allows one look around the campus, observing the situation before them prior to leaning in closer.

“You have until the end of this year to come up with fifty-thousand dollars, or you won’t live long enough to see yourself have beautiful children with that girlfriend of yours. Are we clear?”

“How--”

“Are. We. Clear?” Anya enunciates every syllable.

“Yes.”

His response earns a smile from the woman, which she remarks “Good,” prior to walking past him and pretending as if she’s never met him before in his entire life. It’s sudden, but the sense of panic resting on his gut begins to set in and overwhelms him in more ways than one.

“Fuck.”


	2. No Place Like Home

_ Fuck. _

_ She thinks, over and over. It repeats like a mantra inside of her head, the four-lettered word carries in various tones. She never planned this -- not in a million years; the bright pink plus staring intently at her, as if it were a dagger within her hands and not just a plastic test. Blonde hair falls over her face, until she runs her hands through them, across her face -- she holds no care of any kind that the test, used, is touching parts of her. _

_ Part of her says; you can’t keep it. Whatever it is. The other part tells her; you can’t just get rid of it, either. Torn between two parts of herself, Clarke takes a shuddering breath --- fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Every part of her begins to plummet into the ground, hoping it would swallow her whole and she could hide away from everything that was meant to come -- she lets out a sob that shakes her very core. _

Madi’s cries over the baby monitor are enough to wake Clarke from her memory infused dream.

A sigh rolls from her tongue, and within seconds, the toddler is bouncing within the crib. The cries were replaced with rhythmic babbling to herself -- it causes the mother to chuckle at the thought while dragging herself out from within the comfortable land that is called her bed.

Clarke treads -- more like drags -- herself to her daughter’s room, where the sight upon her is none other than Madi attempting to climb out of her crib; the child has a leg hooked over the railing, dark hair a mess with her onesie half-zipped down as if to encourage her even more. She can’t help but laugh, alerting her daughter of her wandering presence -- it causes Madi to flip herself back onto the mattress with a bounce as if she had never intended to escape in the first place.

“I see you’re practicing, little one,” Clarke remarks, scooping her daughter into her arms. She rubs her nose against her daughters, which earns a giggle. “Let’s get some breakfast, shall we?”

Madi doesn’t last a total of five seconds in the high chair prior to her usual roars of cries. Clarke soothes the toddler with snacks, allowing the progress to cooking breakfast to further prior to the next cry from the youngster who downed her snacks as if she’s never had them once before. Sighing, Clarke begins balancing both supplying snacks and cooking.

Breakfast doesn’t last that long, either.

Despite telling her daughter to sternly eat, Clarke is left with a toddler who refuses to eat after a total of three and a half bite. It ends up on the floor, forcing an aggravated sigh from within the mother; though, she chooses not to do much against it -- kids will be kids. Much like most mornings, Clarke continues to eat her breakfast in a sluggish movement which begins to interest her daughter. The two share Clarke’s plate together, which she considers a win.

She takes her daughter upstairs once more to change the two-year old’s diaper, and change her clothes from pajamas into something more suitable for the day -- or, that was the plan of action Clarke initially intended on going through with. When she turned around, Madi took off down the hall; causing panic to set on her gut for a slight moment prior to taking off after her daughter. She’s thankful they had a baby gate at the top of the stairs. The last thing she needs is a trip to the hospital.

> **10:03 A.M**

Clarke’s house had a total of five bedrooms -- one for herself, one for Abigail, and Madi was spoiled with two rooms. The child’s second room was a playroom that her mother had designed specifically for her; within the years and months, the room was renovated to suit Madi’s interests and allow for more progressive aging. It used to be Jake’s office, and then once, Clarke’s own study room, only to be passed down to the third generation.

It’s secured with a baby gate and has both a noise baby monitor, along with a baby monitor with a camera-equipped to allow Clarke to watch her on the computer or her personal phone just in case she was upstairs -- not that she strays too far from her daughter, however. Clarke is only rarely seen without her daughter.

Babbling noises as Madi mimics explosions and screaming with her dolls comes through on the baby monitor. It blends in with the water rushing while Clarke cleans up their dishes, and washes the counters where she may have made a yolk mess with the eggs -- she moves onto the floor, where Madi’s discarded plate remains and cleans it while allowing her daughter’s unharmed voice to guide her.   


“Hey,” Her mom’s voice breaks her from her routine. “Where’s Madi?”

Clarke points to the baby monitor, “She’s in her room.”

“Oh.” Abby sighs, placing her purse on the counter. “I had a long night.”

“I can tell,” Clarke remarks, moving to their built-in microwave where she grabs a plate of the breakfast they had earlier. “I didn’t know if you ate, so I saved you some pancakes and sausage. I didn’t make you any eggs, though.”

“You’re the best, you know that?” Abby smiles at her daughter, taking the fork when it was offered. “I ate something at around 3-- Jackson brought me food on his way in, so I just ate that.”

“He’s a good employee,” Clarke smiles in return. “I should thank him next time I see him. But, right now, if it’s not too much trouble… Can you watch Madi for an hour or two?”

Abby waits until she’s swallowed her bite, refusing to talk around the mess of pancake. “What for?”

“I need to gather invitations, so I can properly hand them out tonight at school.” Clarke turns the dishwasher on in the midst of her sentence, “For Madi’s third birthday.”

“Of course,” Abby nods. “Just promise not to be too long, I would like a nap.”

“Of course.”

> **12:55 P.M**

Clarke makes a stop at the local coffee shop near campus after several other visits, and finds their drive through is under construction -- forcing her to go inside and socialize despite the need to hurry up and return home. She intends to make the trip quick, allowing the chirp of her car’s alarm being enabled to ring behind her.

“Emori,” Clarke greets with a smile. “Good morning. Is--”

“John here?” Emori finishes her sentence, tilting her head. “No. He’s not.”

“What happened?”

“He’s in the hospital.” The barista begins, “Not that you probably care, but he got jumped outside of his place.”

“Oh, my God--” Clarke sputters, “Who jumped him? Is he okay?”

“He has four broken ribs.” But, before Clarke can say anything else, Emori gives her a pointed look -- “Clarke, I don’t have time to chit-chat with you. What do you want? Your usual?”

“Yes,” She swallows the feeling of a knot in her throat. “Uhm... If you don’t mind me asking, which hospital?”

“I can’t tell you, he doesn’t want anyone to know.” Emori decides now is a good time to begin blending Clarke’s iced drinks, allowing the noise to silence any chance she has of asking any more questions -- which is probably for good reason, given their history.

“Here you go, that’s $9.36.”

Clarke responds with handing the woman her credit card, biting her tongue to prevent herself from bombarding anymore regarding John’s personal life outside of school. She takes the drink carrier and begins walking away -- only, she makes it a foot to the door prior to placing the beverages onto the table and begins fishing through her purse.

“Here.” Clarke hands Emori a hundred dollar bill, “Split it or keep it for yourself -- I don’t care.”

“Why are you giving me this? I’m not--”

“No, it’s your tip.” Clarke smiles, and heads out of the building.

She spends an entirety of thirty minutes in her car, gel nails clicking across her phone’s screen while browsing a website meant to spark inspiration with the occasional sips of her flavored energy drink while her iced coffee remains untouched and only has just begun beading with condensation.

A rapid tapping noise pulls her to the surface with a jolt, she looks to her window and relaxes instantly. Instead of stepping out, she rolls down her window.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure, Bellamy?” Clarke leaned back into her seat with a mischievous smile on her features, “Didn’t think I’d see you today.”

“I’m getting Octavia coffee before her rehearsal. I saw your car, figured I’d come to say hi.” Bellamy smiles in return to hers, “What are you doing here?”

“Coffee.” Clarke raises her drink in hand, “What else?”

“I meant, don’t you have class?”

“Why, is the teacher aid going to rat me out if he finds out I’m skipping?” She raises an eyebrow, “Relax --- I don’t have class today. I’m actually supposed to be gathering things for Madi’s party, but I don’t know what theme to make her party, so…”

“You’ll figure it out,” Bellamy remarks. “Her birthday is only, what, three weeks away?”

Clarke lets out a small laugh to his optimism, allowing her eyes to drift away from him and fixate on something else. For a moment, she loses herself -- it doesn’t last long until she’s bringing herself back, and allows herself to take a deep breath, it relaxes and crushes her chest altogether.

“Yeah, I’m surprised you remembered.” She murmurs, “Uhm-- would you like to come? You can bring Octavia, too. And anyone else you think of inviting.”

“Of course,” He holds a soft smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Madi is a sweetheart.”

“She absolutely loves you, but I think you’d eat those words when you have to wake up with her at three in the morning, and then again every hour on the hour.” Clarke laughs alongside Bellamy, allowing herself to settle into the comfort of the conversation. “I should get going, my mom needs a nap and I need to start making invitations.”

“Good luck, and if you need anything, you have my number.”

“Thanks, Bellamy.”

She waits, and watches, from the side mirror as Bellamy steps from the side of the car and heads into the coffee shop, prior to pulling from the parking space and rolling her window back up to ensure that she doesn’t accidentally hit him or anything. While waiting to turn onto the street, she takes advantage of the time to plug her phone in and begin playing music to relax.

Clarke pulls into her driveway a little past 1:30 P.M, half kicking herself due to taking longer than intended to. The car door is slammed behind her, and the only drink to remain is her iced coffee -- the flavored energy drink held no chance at all of surviving past her attention span of five minutes once she remembered its existence. The car alarm chirps behind her, and she heads up the steps leading to her front door.

Entering the house, she feels the air is a little different as she kicks her shoes off, prompting her to call for her mother -- “Mom? I’m home!”

“Shh!” A sudden demand for silence emits from the hallway, where Clarke’s eyes fall upon a teenager and, instantly, it allows her to calm down with the air shifting back to normal. “Your mom’s asleep.”

“Aden,” Clarke breathes out, “I’m so sorry she had to call you. I promised her I wouldn’t be gone long--”

“It’s fine.” Aden replies with a smile, “I don’t mind the extra money.”

“I’ll pay you double.” Clarke murmurs, heading after him into the kitchen.

She allows the sight of Aden returning to his seat adjourning Madi, who remained in her high-chair eating away at snacks and a sandwich that she no doubt demanded and held special requests that the teenager makes, to set in before her prior to placing her bags from Michaels, Wal-Mart, and the Dollar Store inside of the pantry.

When she exits the pantry, she finds another person had joined the kitchen -- Aden’s girlfriend, Tris, whom she had only known for a short moment, but the teenager who babysat her daughter only spoke so nice of her and, admittedly, Clarke was the one to give him the courage to ask her out.

“Hey, Tris.”

“Hello, Clarke.”

“When did my mom call you?” Clarke focuses her attention on Aden.

“Almost an hour ago, she said something about not being able to keep her eyes open. I guess she spent all night at the hospital, and her last patient was with John Murphy, of all people.” Aden shrugs his shoulders, “He apparently ripped his I.V out and refused treatment.”

“What?” Clarke’s eyebrows furrowed tightly, “He shouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, in his condition, I wouldn’t either.” Aden pointed out, “But, that was his choice.”

“Fair point.” And then a pause, “If it’s not too much trouble, Aden, would it be okay if you continued to watch Madi for a while? I just need to get a headstart on some invitations.”

“Of course,” Aden moves from his seat to get a juice box for Madi. Before Clarke leaves the room, however, he perks up with sudden remembrance -- “Oh! Hey, Clarke?”

“Yeah?” She leans herself back, half in the doorway and half out. “What’s up?”

“My older sister moved back to Arkadia a day and a half ago --- she wants to study again, but I was wondering if it would be okay for her to come to Madi’s party? Just to get to know a few people her age, since she hardly knows anyone.”

“That’s fine.” Clarke smiles, earning a smile from Aden in return.

> **4:23 P.M**

“Thank you, again, Aden and Tris.”

“Of course,” Aden begins. “If you need me to watch her, you’re always welcome to ask.”

“You’re the best.” Clarke smiles, “Bye. Please be safe on the roads.”

Aden nods in return, and while the two teenagers descend down the steps, Clarke bounces Madi on her hip while telling the toddler that she should say goodbye -- it prompts the youngster to loudly proclaim  _ Buh-bye! _ Over and over to the teenagers, who laugh in return to saying goodbye. Once they climbed into Aden’s car, Clarke decides to close the door.

“Okay, Madi. What do you want to watch?” She inquires, turning the television on in her playroom. It takes a while of naming off various television shows and movies prior to Madi settling on one.

While her daughter remains pre-occupied, Clarke takes advantage and retreats to the living room to sit down. The baby monitor occasionally making noise upon Madi’s voice, or the television echoing through it -- allowing her to relax knowing her daughter isn’t in any kind of trouble or hasn’t hurt herself. In the process, she decides to go onto Facebook.

There, she makes an event on the website and begins inviting a handful of people -- primarily extended family and a few close families, such as her Aunts and Uncles. In the process of inviting people, Clarke’s eyebrows furrow upon a name that she hasn’t heard in such a long time:  _ Adaline Murphy.  _ She scoffs and decides to un-add the woman right there.

Hesitating, Clarke decides to follow her gut.

> **CLARKE GRIFFIN, 4:42 P.M** Hey.

Text bubbles appear, then disappear, and then reappear. It goes on for what feels as though it’s an eternity, and Clarke holds her breath.

> **RAVEN REYES, 4:45 P.M** What do you want?
> 
> **CLARKE GRIFFIN, 4:45 P.M** I know what Finn and I did was really horrible, and I’m not expecting you to forgive me so easily or even at all. It’s been three years, though. I was wondering if maybe, you’d like to come to Madi’s birthday party? You’d love her if you could meet her.
> 
> **RAVEN REYES, 4:50 P.M** You’re joking, right?
> 
> **CLARKE GRIFFIN, 4:50 P.M** No?
> 
> **RAVEN REYES, 4:51 P.M** Sure, let me attend YOUR daughter’s birthday party. My cheating ex’s daughter’s birthday party. That sounds like the best way to spend my time, Griffin. I’d rather choke.
> 
> **CLARKE GRIFFIN, 4:52 P.M** Okay.
> 
> **RAVEN REYES, 4:52 P.M** Next time, use your brain. Don’t message me, don’t call me. Might as well get off my Facebook as well.
> 
> **CLARKE GRIFFIN, 4:52 P.M** Okay. I’m sorry.
> 
> **RAVEN REYES, 4:57 P.M** Yeah, you’re always sorry.

Tears bubble and begin to sting at the corner of Clarke’s eyes; she rubs them away after having set her phone beside her. The feeling of a knot inside of her throat continues to bother her as the conversation runs through in her head, and she ignores the sensation of her gut-wrenching and turning inside of her -- taking a deep breath, Clarke shakes her body.

“Okay, I should’ve expected that.” She murmurs to herself. She decides to put her phone on the coffee table and stands up, allowing herself to take a break from the past and social media for a moment.

She makes her way to her daughter’s playroom and climbs over the gate. Madi paid no attention, deeply interested in the movie she’s seen only but a thousand times, prior to the noise from the gate which prompts her to look over her shoulder, and Clarke’s heart swells when her daughter immediately stands to run over and grabbed her mother’s hand.

“Mommy, come watch!” Madi attempts to drag her mother, which Clarke responds with picking her daughter up instead.

She moves to the additional bed in the playroom, which was put into place for if Madi ever tired herself out while playing. It’s been replaced time and time again, enough to fit the toddler’s growing body without any kind of discomfort, and the newest addition was sturdy enough to support Clarke’s weight for if the two wanted to lay down together.

In this instance, Clarke decides to do just that.

She lays beside her daughter on the bed, who gasps and seems enthused over the movie. Running her fingers through the child’s hair, Clarke takes a deep breath which prompts a few loose tears to fall from her eyes, over her nose, and onto the bed -- she’s thankful Madi wasn’t looking or hadn’t taken notice.

> **8:05 P.M**

“Clarke.” 

“Hmm?”

“It’s eight.”

“What?” Clarke opens her eyes, a grogginess setting over her. Her vision blurs for a moment with sleep, and it takes her a moment to register that she’s awake and not, in fact, asleep. “Where’s Madi?”

“I moved her to her bed upstairs. Both of you fell asleep.” Abby replies, “Did you want to go back to sleep? I can order some pizza for later.”

“Mmm,” Clarke begins to drift but pulls herself back to reality. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, it just…”

“You’re fine,” Abby replies. “You’ve been busy the last couple of days, I’m sure you needed it. Besides, Madi was tired as well.”

“Yeah, but now when she wakes up, she won’t go to bed.” Clarke sighs, forcing herself to sitting position. “Thank you for waking me up, though. I’m going to go back to bed if that’s okay.”

Abby nods, and Clarke murmurs yet another  _ thank you _ prior to finding the strength to get up from the bed. Dragging her feet, she yawns and makes her way upstairs as carefully as possible -- the last thing she really wants is to miss her footing. From there, the only thing Clarke does is take her shirt off and decides to sleep in just her bra and shorts.

* * *

“Why are you giving one to me?”

“Because, I need to start appreciating my old friends more, and you have yet to actually meet Madi.”

“She’s a cute kid, Clarke, but a child’s birthday party isn’t exactly… My scene.”

“Please, Murphy?”

John rubs at the back of his neck, allowing himself to take a deep breath. She can tell he’s pondering the thought, maybe weighing in the pros and cons of the situation -- if Murphy is who she once remembered, he’s also thinking of how the entire party might go. Nonetheless, within a few seconds, he remarks: “Okay, I’ll go. I’ll shift-trade with someone.”

It earns an ear to ear smile from Clarke.

“Thank you.”

She moves down the hallway during a free period, hoping to catch whoever is available for her to invite. Clarke has specific people on her mind, and refuses to invite just anyone -- it’s her daughter’s birthday party, after all, she’d only want those closest to her to get to know her daughter, due to Madi being a big part of her life.

Running into Bellamy with his sister, Octavia, she officially hands the two of them an invitation.

“Clarke!” A voice echoes the hallway, and footsteps are heard. Her name being called prompts her to turn around, causing shock to paint over her features.

“Wells.” Clarke breaths, “It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

“Yeah,” Wells begins. “Dad sent me on a trip to Paris with mom, they thought I needed a break from school -- doesn’t make any sense, I know -- but I'm back now. Sorry… For the  _ not calling, not texting _ though. I got a little wrapped up.”

“No, you’re fine. If I was in Paris, I probably would shut everyone else out.”

“So, Madi’s turning three, hun?”

“Yeah.” Clarke smiles, “Kind of hurts to see her grow up so soon. I’m happy she’s growing up, but--”

“You’d rather her stay young forever.” Wells finishes her sentence, and Clarke nods. “I get it. My mom was the same way, she never wanted me to grow out of two years old.”

“Yeah, but now look at you. You’re the smartest person I know, with passing grades and, honestly, no reason to even be here. I hope Madi is the same way.”

“She will be!” Wells counters, “She’s incredibly smart for her age.”

The duo continues their conversation for only but a few moments, prior to Wells claiming he has a class to go to -- Clarke refuses to let him leave without giving him a proper invitation, which prompts him to make a promise to be there for both girls. She continues down the corridor while losing herself in her thoughts and only hands out a total of three more.

Stress has become an all too familiar friend of Clarke’s, especially after having Madi -- though she doesn’t regret anything and wouldn’t wish for anyone better than her daughter, to begin with, but for once in her life, the stress seemed to have elevated itself off of Clarke’s shoulders for even a short moment while handing out invitations and getting a guarantee. On top of her classes, the mother hopes for the day to go about as smooth as it has for the afternoon.

Only, the universe refuses to give her a break.

“What do you want, Finn?” Suddenly, the influx of stress returns to her shoulders as she brushes past the other parent abruptly -- intending to escape him in ways she doesn’t have to directly look at him. It was too painful. “Make it fast, I have things to do.”

“I wanted to make sure everything between us was good.” Finn has to jog to keep up, “Since, you know, you avoided me for a year? Forgot to invite me to Madi’s first birthday party?”

Clarke scoffs, “I invited you. You didn’t show up. But, whatever helps you sleep at night.” A pause, she sighs. “No, nothing is wrong between us unless you want there to be.”

“I don’t!” He interrupts, abruptly. “I mean, I wouldn’t dream of it. Uhm-- I actually wanted to invite you and Madi out to dinner. Tonight, that is. I haven’t seen her in a while thanks to you, and I figured we could clear up everything--”

“Wait,” Clarke stops walking and scowls at him. “ _ You _ haven’t seen her  _ thanks to me _ ? You have every chance to come and see her, Finn. I’m not withholding her from you. You just choose not to come and see her because the thought of being an actual father  _ terrifies  _ you. Is there another girlfriend in your life?”

“What? No. Clarke-- I’m not trying to impress someone. Why do you think I am?”

“Because the only time you make me out to be the bad guy is when you need to impress someone.”

“Look, I just want to take my daughter out to dinner, and I’d like for you to join us.” Finn reiterates with sincerity. It takes Clarke a moment to decide on an answer.

“Whatever, just text me the information.”

> **5:45 P.M**

She hasn’t heard from him in the last five hours.

Much to her expectation, she didn’t think he would. Although, she’s proven wrong when, suddenly, her phone rings with a dinging noise and the message preview reads  _ I’ll be there in 30 minutes _ from none other than Finn himself, prompting Clarke to scramble to gather necessary items for Madi, and then forcing her to urgently get them dressed.

By the time the doorbell rings throughout the house, Clarke has only gotten Madi ready. She continues to pester her mother while continuously asking if they’re leaving despite having already been given an answer from Clarke -- she leaves the bathroom door open to hear the impending downstairs conversation since she can’t expect it to go incredibly well.

“Abby!” Finn’s voice rings loudly.

The front door is slammed, forcing Clarke to leave the bathroom. “Mom!” She shouts, earning an annoyed look from her mother. “He’s here to take us to dinner and catch up.”

Abby sighs, allowing herself to close her eyes for a brief moment with the addition of pressing her fingers to her temples to signify that this was a strenuous activity for her. It earns an eye roll from Clarke, who leaves to go finish her makeup, and when Abby opens the door again, she’s taken a deep breath and allows a faux smile to paint her features.

“Finn! It’s so nice to see you, I apologize for my actions.” She offers, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Ah, no. I’m taking Clarke and Madi to dinner.”

“Oh, what a shame that you can’t stay. I’ll just have to dine by myself then, maybe open a bottle of wine.” Abby laughs to her own joke, which Clarke can hear is fake as well.

He waits a total of thirty minutes prior to Clarke getting ready; in the meanwhile, she’s allowed Madi to go downstairs to get to spend time with him -- under Abby’s secret supervision. Once she’s dressed up, he remarks a compliment regarding both of the girls looking well dressed, and escort them outside where he opens the door for Clarke, and refuses to let her buckle in Madi, claiming that he  _ can do it, don’t worry. _

The car prompts Clarke to feel out of place.

His car has always been run down, and 9 out of 10 times just outright broken. This was luxurious in ways Clarke couldn’t explain -- it was, maybe, just a few years older, but no more than five; it had a stereo that lit up with a simple press of a button and had a camera in the middle of it to allow Finn, or whoever was driving, to look behind them. It isn’t until she looks to the mirror and finds a raven pendant does it finally connect.

“This is Raven’s car?”

“What?”

“The pendant.” Clarke gestures to it, “You still talk to her?”

“On occasion, I guess.” Finn shrugs his shoulders, “She let me borrow this for tonight.”

“Why?”

“She figured my car would be a death trap, and didn’t think it was safe for Madi.”

“How do you not get any attitude when talking to her?” Clarke inquires,

“Oh, no, I do.” Finn remarks, “I just tend to ignore it.”

“She yelled at me the other day over text.”

“You probably deserved it.” He murmurs under his breath, just not quiet enough for Clarke to not catch it, earning an irritated look.

“Excuse me?” Clarke scoffs, “You’re one to talk.”

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I  _ deserved _ it? Okay, and you deserve everything she throws at you, too. She loved you, and you destroyed that trust no differently than I did.”

She catches onto him clutching the steering wheel harder, it forces his knuckles to go white against his already pale skin. That’s when Clarke takes notice of the dashboard where the speedometer reads at a 55 between the 10 increments of 50 and 60, prompting panic to slowly rise and eat away at her gut.

“Finn.” She attempts, swallowing. “You’re going 50.”

“Your point,  _ Princess? _ ”

“It’s 35 in this area.”

“Get off of my back.” Finn has to refrain from yelling, “This was supposed to be a  _ good night _ between  _ my _ daughter and me, but of course, I have to deal with the all-mighty Clarke Griffin digging her nose into everything. I should’ve just taken Madi and left.”

“I wouldn’t have let you, you know that.”

“You said she was my daughter and that I can see her, so why not all of the sudden?”

“ _ See her _ , yes. Take her? No. You ignored her for almost two years, Finn.” Clarke’s voice drops into a slight whisper, knowing full well that Madi, although occupied with toys she’d brought along, is able to listen into the conversation. “You don’t pay child support, either, Finn. Legally, you’ve abandoned her.”

“Try that in court, I dare you.”

“If you want to take it to court, I will.” Clarke clenched her teeth.

He passes a red light, narrowly avoiding a car. It causes Clarke’s panic to rise only deeper, getting unbearable to the point that it feels as if it’s in her throat and every part of her nerves telling her _ to get out _ , but the lack of being able to get out of the car without physical damage to herself remains clear.

“Finn! Slow down. That was a red light. Finn!”

It happened suddenly.

The feeling of the car being slammed into on the passenger side where Madi and Clarke remains -- it spirals out of control, colliding into a nearby building on the street and narrowly avoids pedestrians just by a hair. The other car remains hooked onto them by the front end bumper. Glass shattered upon impact, raining over both Clarke and Madi while the windshield remains cracked across the entirety of it.

Clarke, on impact, was thrown forward which caused her head to hit the dashboard. It knocked her unconscious in the process, and the feeling of pain leaves her system only for but a moment -- the sound of indistinct voices and sirens drags her to reality in a lull of fatigue, she feels almost out of place when she comes to. With her vision blurred, all she smells is gasoline and blood.

She takes a look at her legs, finding a few shards of glass in revealed skin alongside with her arm. Running a hand over the pained part of her head, she puts it into view to find blood immediately covered her palm -- almost dazed, Clarke swallows and finds her throat dry. She can hardly relay any type of memories either, and it isn’t until she’s finally able to remember Madi does her panic once return to itself.

“Madi?” Talking hurts in a different way than a sore throat. “Madi!?”

Clarke attempts to buckle, only to find it stuck. It’s now that her chest compresses and feels constricted, almost tight -- she looks to her left and finds that Finn is no longer in the car. It takes her a moment to register a series of blue and red lights, but she realizes that firetrucks and police cars have come to their aid but Finn is nowhere in view from what she can tell.

“Hey--” She attempts to speak when a few firefighters come to her aid. “Hey, where’s my daughter?”

They urge her not to talk, and to remain calm. She asks again, and they give a half-assed explanation that her daughter is  _ okay _ , but it’s not enough to calm the worried mother down -- they cut the seatbelt, and before they even have a chance to carry her out, Clarke’s already pushed past them. Immediately, she’s hitting the cement as her legs feel numb.

The firefighters help her to her feet and attempt to bring her to the ambulance.

Clarke pushes them away, finding the ability to stand properly. She takes a few steps, and looks around in a panic -- “Madi! Where’s my daughter?!” She shouts, looking over to the other workers, “Please--”

An officer runs to Clarke’s aid, murmuring what can only be an apology to witnesses prior to assigning another officer to get their statement -- she arrives in time to catch Clarke when her knees buckle out from her weight and fatigue.

“Please, where’s my daughter?”

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down. We need to check your conditions before--”

“No, I need to know where my daughter is.”

“She was unconscious when I arrived on the scene, but the male in the driver’s seat went with them on route to the hospital. He was the only one conscious, and claimed to be her father -- is that correct?”

“Yes,” Clarke sighs. The feeling of fatigue attempting to take over. “Yes, that’s..”

Vision blurs at the corners of her eyes until it takes over completely, forcing her to slip back into unconsciousness. The only thing prior to going under once more that Clarke can remember is the nameplate that read  _ L. WOODS _ across it -- she hopes that when she wakes, however, it’ll be with her daughter.

She’s wrong.

When she awakes, she awakes in the room alone. Three IVs are hooked into her arm, and a breathing tube inserted down her throat -- it forces immediately panic to rise, prompting the machines to rise and alert the nurses of Clarke’s condition. After much-needed help, Clarke is allowed to breathe normally and without assisted help.

However, the nurses refuse to give her any type of information.

“Clarke Griffin,” A woman’s voice states with a clipboard in hand. “You’re notorious around the college.”

“I’m sorry?” Clarke opens her eyes to find the familiar officer. “You’re the officer who caught me.”

“Yes.” She nods, “I’m Officer Lexa Woods.”

“How do you know who I am?” Her voice is raspy and no doubt damaged.

“Raven’s a friend.” Lexa offers a tight smile, “Plus, you hired my brother and you’re Abigail’s daughter, so.”

“Your… Brother?” Clarke’s eyebrows furrow, and with every blink, she threatens to keep her eyes closed. It takes her only a moment, “Aden.”

“Mh-hm.” Lexa pauses, “I’m sorry to do this, but I’m placing you under arrest.”

“What?!” 

The officer pulls handcuffs out from her belt, and before Clarke is able to react, they’re hooked around her wrist and the other to the bar of the bed -- forcing her to stay exactly where she is until further notice. Clarke, swallowing her otherwise dry throat, visibly panics.

“Why?”

“For an ongoing investigation regarding child abuse.”

“I’d never hurt my daughter! Please--”

“Well, Finn Collins begs to differ.” Lexa remarks abruptly, “Don’t worry -- we arrested him too, for child endangerment, driving while intoxicated, illegal passing, and refusal to stop at a red light.”

“He was intoxicated?”

“Yes. He breathed a 1.0.” She pauses, “If I were you, I’d lawyer up and fight this. Unfortunately, until I have cause to let you free, you’re confined to this room. I’ll be just outside of your room if you need me, but preferably -- don’t call for me.”

Lexa begins to walk out of the room, and every part of Clarke attempts to soothe her; a comforting voice in the back of her head that she’s developed desperately trying to tell her  _ don’t panic, everything will work out _ but then there’s another voice in the back of her head yelling at her, and it causes her eyes to start prickling with tears -- it hurts, her chest hurts. Everything hurts, and she doesn’t know how to stop it.

“Wait!” 

Lexa stops in her tracks, almost out the door. “Yes?”

“I demand my one phone call,” Clarke tries to keep her voice even, “I still get that, don’t I?”

“I suppose.” The officer sighs, retreating back into the room. In the process of making her way towards the patient, Lexa grabs the phone from within the hospital room. “Here. Dial 9 first.”

Breathing feels all the more different. As if there’s something buzzing and generating inside of her chest and threatening to break free -- she tries to swallow the sensation deep down, but it only gets more and more strenuous on her. Clarke sighs, murmuring the phone number under her breath as she begins to dial it.

“Hello?”

A beat of her heart, she’s thankful the woman answered.

“It’s Clarke. Wait-- don’t hang up, please?”

“What do you want?”

“ _ Raven _ ..” She swallows, tears spilling from her eyes. “I need help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little un-beta'd, so bare with me if you find any mistakes or if it seems a little lacking in certain spots. However, did you catch that foreshadow?


End file.
